Missed Him
by Kirrithian
Summary: The Doctor has taken the Tardis away from Paternoster row, and Clara is left behind. But what is actually going on for him?


"I fear we have missed him."

Abandoned once more. The trap of this time loomed over Claras head and she looked down and away, hurrying into the house, closing the curtains against the sight of that empty square, it's stark shape eroded by leaves as the cold winds blew.

Within the Tardis the Doctor sat on the steps, watching the rotor pulsing up and down, his hands turning over one another, taking a deep breath, twitching as if to run to the console, take it straight back to... her. He stood, caught in the moment then turned, pacing into the depths of the tardis. Away, just away.

In his wandering he found the pool, and went for a swim. That sorted out the smell at least, the calm warm serenity of floating in the water, cutting through the ripples with sure strokes a distraction- for a time before once more he had to haul himself out. Wrapped in a brown bathrobe he had a search around flinging open doors and lockers and chests to slam them shut again with a huff and stomping around, stubbing his foot on a planter. Hopping about he came to rest against the doorway, and looking up, there was the console room, the central column waiting, distorting the doors behind, the curvature dragging them closer, reminding him of what was waiting for him beyond. Pushing away he strode down the corridor, once more heading away, and after some more time he came across the wardrobe, almost instantly seizing upon a sturdy pair of boots, shiny and black, followed quickly by smart black trousers and a plain white shirt. Catching sight of himself in the mirror he stopped, staring at the stranger he now was. Slowly, one by one he did up the buttons on his shirt, delicately smoothing out the creases as he went, pausing at the top button, the collar stood up, enclosing his neck. He did the top button up, turning this way and that to see it for all angles, the collar partly snapping down as he looked around. With a sigh he went to pull it up again, but paused, pushing it down and having a look at that, raising a hand before dashing to one of the many railings and hauling out a very dark navy blue waistcoat a flash of red catching his eye and he went back in, drawing out a matching coat, with a brilliant red lining. He put them on, then turned, unveiling himself with a twirl, almost stumbling as- for a moment he thought he saw one of his other selves, wide eyed and white haired. He had been old too. But looking, staring back was just himself. His fingers were drawn to the stark whiteness at his neck and he looked over the rails for... for what? Holding up coloured ties, bow-ties and scarves. All scraps of cloth, eventually laid to the side to be forgotten. Nothing fit.

So there he was. He drew himself up and struck out back to the console, which came all too quickly. He paused, taking it in, popping down to the console proper, pacing round to the opposite side, his back to the doors.

"Give me some books." He muttered as he worked, head down as a grinding and crunching emanated from the upper levels, as the tardis reconfigured. He looked up to see the elegant bookshelves a deep, high backed chair set beneath them. He settled himself in, hauling a pile of the books onto a side table, and preparing a cup of tea. Finally he settled himself in the chair and opened the first book, before snapping it shut again.

"I can't see a thing." He waved his fingers in front of his face. "I can see those. Ah lights." He returned to the console, and in response the lights dimmed, changed colour, brightened then dimmed again as he worked through all the options, before finally settling on a hue. "No, this won't do at all. It's all angular. Circles, ooh the circle things- nice bright and curves." He frantically tapped at the console, and eventually conjured up a handful of brightly lit roundels, then returned to his seat, settling in once more with a sigh, prising open the book. The pages began to whirr by, then slowed, more and more until they stopped, about halfway through, the Doctor looking over the book, and at the doors. The doors that waited. He couldn't hide forever. Pushing himself to his feet he unsteadily made his way over to the console once more, carefully typing in the programming, checking, double, triple checking to make sure every single detail was right, his hand shaking as it was finally ready, hovering over the lever that when used would send him back.

His hand went down and wrenched it over, springing away and darting up to his chair like a child who had poked a lion, the growling rumble of the Tardis as it began to settle into it's landing. There was no turning back now. He crumpled into the chair. He was going back. To face her judgement.


End file.
